


301 - Jacket Swap

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Mini Fic, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 15:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Origin story of the velvet/suede jacket. Also, a cute meet mini fic. Also, a love letter to op shops.





	301 - Jacket Swap

The rows of second hand clothes are too familiar; you hadn't left long enough between this trip and the last. Any sparkling top or right-size jeans that catch your eye have already been in and out of the 'maybe' pile. But thrift shopping is the closest thing to therapy you have. 

The horrible yet rhythmic sound of metal coat hangers sliding along the racks helps ground you. A gem find, an old Jim Morrison t-shirt or copy of The Shining to finish your Stephen King collection brightens your whole week. The best thing though is the people. 

From the little old ladies who stand behind counters in uniform beige with crucifixes hanging from their necks, to the other shoppers too concerned with their own bargains and need for therapy to notice you, the people of thrift stores make you feel so perfectly invisible. You can blend into the background. Relax in your own skin. Not watched. Not judged. Not anything. Just browsing the section marked 'vintage,' coming to the conclusion that old doesn't necessarily mean gold. 

This though - is this velvet?

Pulling the jacket from the rack, you hold it at arm's length. Maybe not velvet, not plush enough. Suede then. Soft and soot black. It's too casual to have ever belonged to a suit. Likewise, it's not really a blazer. But, it's something. 

"Now, that's got a bit of soul, don't it?" 

His accent is thick. You can almost hear the generations of Irishmen in his voice. There's more too, more you can hear. He smokes or sings, or both. He's friendly in the way that's natural, not obligational. And, you can hear that he likes the jacket. A lot. 

"I think it'd probably fit you." 

His eyebrows knit together in slight confusion. 

"Isn't that why… you…" you begin again. 

"Oh! Fuck. Nah, love," he says, a small laugh punctuating his kinda-sentence. 

"Just try it on," you instruct, the authority in your voice making him smile and comply. 

You watch as he shakes off the jacket he's wearing. It's ugly - too shiny leather, sewn to look almost puffy in parts. Not the perfect fit, he swims in it, making him look much younger than he probably is. As his arms slide into the suede, he seems to stand taller. You don't know him, but you could swear he looks more like himself in this jacket. 

A small and honest, "Wow," escapes from between your lips. 

"Yeah?"

He doesn't wait for confirmation though. Instead, he begins to wander away, looking for a mirror. 

Left with the old leather jacket, you pick it up and hold it in your hands. It's still warm. Suddenly feeling unsure about the moment, the realisation this person has seen you when you're meant to be perfectly invisible dawning on you, you glance around nervously. And, with nothing else to do, you put the leather jacket on the suede's coat hanger and put it on the vintage rack. 

The guy returns. "Look like I'm from James Bond or somethin' - 007," he exclaims, buzzing off his own glorious reflection. 

It makes you laugh. "Ah… sure… It does look good. You should get it," 

"Yeah, think I will. Only seven bucks too. Whadda' bargain," 

"Actually," you say, directing his attention to where his old jacket now resides. "Reckon it's a fair trade…" 

The guy raises his eyebrows. Maybe he didn't think you looked like the type. Maybe he likes that you are. 

"Alright then. On three?" He's grinning and there's fire in his eyes. 

You don't know it, but it's in yours too. 

"One," you start. 

"Two," he continues. 

"Three!" in perfect unison.


End file.
